


Let T'pol Say Fuck

by cinip



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinip/pseuds/cinip
Summary: In an effort to learn more about human culture, T'pol picks up swearing, now knowing exactly what it means or how to use it.





	Let T'pol Say Fuck

T’pol sat at the table across from Archer, gripping her chopsticks tightly. For someone with such good dexterity, she somehow struggled with her new eating utensils. At least she didn’t have to touch her food. Finger food was something T’pol found appalling, so much so that when Archer recommended she eat her pizza with her fingers, she folded it up nicely and cut it into bite sized pieces. Moving her hands further down the chopsticks, T’pol found it easier to use them, however, she was closer to her food. What a shame.

“I see you’re getting the hang of chopsticks,” said Archer, taking a bite of his steamed broccoli. He paused for a moment before making a face. “Hold on, let me heat this up.” T’pol watched as he walked into the other room to warm up his meal. She looked down at her fizzy drink, what had Archer called it? A Shirley Temple? She noticed the bright red candy cherry in the middle of it. How odd. 

“Ow! Fuck!” she heard Archer yell from the other room. She watched as Archer brought back his plate, using a cloth napkin to protect his hands. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is “fuck”?” asked T’pol. Archer stifled a laugh.

“Oh, uh, it’s an interjection we humans use when we find something unpleasant, are startled, or are disappointed,” he said, creating a definition off the top of his head. “We also say it when we hurt ourselves sometimes.”

“Are you hurt? Do you need to see Doctor Phlox?” asked T’pol, concerned. Archer shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said, taking another bite of his broccoli. “Mm, just right.” T’pol eyed the cherry still floating in her drink.  _ How peculiar _ she thought, wondering why it was there. Had Archer accidentally dropped it in? T’pol grabbed her chopsticks and fished the cherry out, bringing it into her mouth. It was sweet, too sweet. Archer laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” she demanded, but Archer didn’t answer.

* * *

 

The next day, T’pol was doing her daily check when she noticed Trip and Reed working on a project down near the weapons systems. Reed was holding a pad with some blueprints while Trip was on the ground with several tools in his hands, fastening and tightening things. As soon as he deemed himself complete, he stood up and walked over to a knob, opening it. Suddenly, the project began to hiss and screech, smoke pouring out of it. Quickly, Trip grabbed the knob to turn it off, but not before a piece of metal shot off and hit him in the shin.

“Damn it to hell!” he said, rubbing his shin. T’pol’s eyes perked up.

“Is this another one of those interjections captain Archer was telling me about last night? The kind you humans use for extreme emotion?” asked T’pol. Trip and Reed looked at each other, ecstatic. 

“Why, um, yes!” said Reed, looking at Trip. “It is indeed.”

“Are you alright?” asked T’pol, noticing Trip was rubbing his leg. 

“I’ll live,” he said, standing back up. T’pol nodded and went to go check up on other areas of the ship. As soon as she was gone, Trip and Reed trned to each other. 

“Wait Archer told her swear words? Do you know what this means!” said Trip, excitedly. “We have to get Hoshi and Mayweather in on this, this could be hilarious!” 

“Agreed,” said Reed.

* * *

 

Later that same day, T’pol sat at a table in the eating area, sipping her tea. She created a list of all the interjection words and phrases she knew: fuck, damn it to hell, shit, crap, and tortellini.  _ Or was it fuck it to hell? Damn it to fuck?  _ Someone would probably correct her if she were wrong. 

“Can I sit here?” asked Mayweather, startling T’pol with his sudden entrance.  _ This is my chance to use my words _ she thought to herself. She straightened her posture, turned to face Mayweather, lifted her chin, and enunciated 

“Fuck.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” said Mayweather, taking the seat anyways. Hoshi walked into the room.

“Someone asked where they could find you and I said here, but I was already on my way here so I just picked up the pad,” she said, handing it to T’pol. “Our dilithium crystal levels are low.”  _ Humans use interjections when bad things happen, right? Perhaps I should use one here. _

“Tortellini,” she said elegantly, with no discernable emotion. Hoshi’s cheeks pinkened; this was the ‘swear word’ she had taught to T’pol. 

“Wow, you certainly know a lot of...interjection words,” said Mayweather, taking a bite of his croissant. T’pol nodded, a tad proud of herself. 

“You know, you can use one of the single words, at ‘ing’ to the end of it, and put it before hell and it also works,” said Mayweather as Hoshi hid her smile with a napkin.  _ Why is everyone smiling? I must not be using enough _ thought T’pol. A little bit of her tea spilled onto her hand. 

“Crapping hell,” she said in a monotonous voice before looking up at Mayweather and Hoshi for approval. Mayweather nodded while Hoshi gave her a thumbs up. 

“I think you’re really learning,” said Mayweather. 

“I honestly think interjection words really complete the human languages,” piped up Hoshi. “They allow us to relate to each other better.”

“Well I’m certainly glad that I have learned this valuable cultural language,” said T’pol, taking another sip of her tea. She watched as Phlox grabbed his meal of...something, and walked over to sit next to the three. He pulled up the empty chair next to T’pol, and set his food down. Unfortunately, he didn’t set it down right, so a few pieces of...whatever he was eating fell off and into T’pol’s lap.

“Damn it to fuck,” she said, grabbing a napkin to wipe it off. But the napkin was too thin! T’pol froze when the food touched her hand, how uncivilized.  _ Wait, I can use an interjection for this. _ “Damning shit.” T’pol grabbed another napkin to wipe off her hand and ended up knocking Phlox’s food onto the floor. “Crap it to hell.” Phlox rested his hand on her forearm, causing her to look up.

“T’pol, what the absolute fuck are you saying?”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a humour fic. Credit to this post http://killjoyfabulous.tumblr.com/post/164806678147/startrekgenerator-let-tpol-say-fuck-i-still for the idea.


End file.
